


Deafening Distance

by QueenBuzzle



Series: Insomnia Sweets [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Dean is an awko taco, Gen, Jem is Harry, M/M, insomnia sweets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1369792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenBuzzle/pseuds/QueenBuzzle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a long, long way away.<br/>Jem feels his distance like the deaf hear silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deafening Distance

**Author's Note:**

> {Disclaimer: I am not nor do I pretend to be deaf, so if I have inaccurately described the feeling of deafness, please forgive me I meant no harm<3}

_Deafening Distance_

_The cellular customer you have dialed is unavailable. Please leave your message after the tone._

Jem slammed his phone shut, running a hand roughly through his hair. Something akin to disappointment coursed through his veins like fire.

Had he misread everything?

Figuratively, of course: he was pretty sure he hadn't misread the chicken scratch note Dean had given him with his phone number.

But had he misread everything _between_ them? He'd thought that Dean...well, that Dean _liked_ him in a way nobody had liked him since he became Jem. And he'd certainly liked Dean—it was impossible, it was so _different_ than liking Ginny. Where she was all soft curves and sweet smiles, Dean was solid muscles and wicked smirks.

Maybe he was just _desperate,_ aching for something so badly that he'd take whoever came along first.

Still, an uncertain part of him wavered dangerously toward the fact that _Dean_ had started this: _Dean_ had asked _Jem_ to wait, _Dean_ had kissed _him, Dean_ had come crying to _Jem_ for comfort, not the other way around.

So why wasn't he _answering his damn phone?!_

Jem hadn't been this worried in a long, long time. Not about a single person, anyways. The last time he'd spoken to the other man, Dean had said that “they” (who “they” were was not elaborated upon) were headed down near Louisiana for a Vampire hunt. Jem didn't know if this was a way of taking his anger out or not—Dean hadn't said if his plot to get his brothers back worked or not.

From his vantage point at his new favorite seat—a comfy loveseat wedged between the new built-in bookshelves he'd put in—he could see the front register, the display case, the door, and the furthest point of the public building. Insomnia Sweets' public section was shaped sort of like an L: you walked in the front door and directly in front of you is the register and display case, to your left is a few tables and the wall. To your right is the built-ins and the loveseat, then you turn the corner and it's a wide hall of comfy seats and tables.

From his loveseat, Jem could see it all.

He tapped his fingers on the table as he eyed his menagerie of customers. Some were regulars: Mrs. Pink Hat with her young daughter, who came in and had tea parties at the same table every week. Miss Essay, the college student who did her homework in the far corner almost every day and got coffee each morning on her way to school (who Jem sometimes gave free sweets to when he saw her tired eyes, the poor girl worked nonstop in retail to pay for school, which was draining her wallet and her energy). Mr. Soccer Dad who brought his son's sports team here after every game.

Jem liked _knowing._ He liked the familiarity of looking around at well-known strangers, knowing how they were even if he didn't know _who_ they were. They were solved mysteries: puzzles whose pieces have long since been put together, missing only a couple of pieces on the outside rim, not enough to mar the picture on the inside.

But knowing didn't take his mind off things. His eyes could scan over _soccer tea calculus hat phone number bills_ restlessly and his mind wouldn't have to work at figuring anything out.

It was the customers he didn't recognize that he really liked.

The one at the register now might have been a Hunter but for the way his shoulders were held and the lilting way he walked, like nobody could harm him. Harry's eyes tracked over him, filling in a new puzzle. Married, the ring on his finger said. Educated, said his briefcase. Baby, says the milk stain on his tie.

Then he's out the door, clutching a coffee in one hand and a box of a dozen cupcakes in the other, and Jem's eyes flicked to the next in line, eagerly sucking in the new information.

 

He ends his break before he should, after the fifth repetition of _The cellular customer you have dialed is unavailable. Please leave your message after the tone._ When the cashier—a young Wizarding boy attending a day school nearby—looks at him funny, Jem just shrugs and says it looked busy. Besides, several customers in a row had bought a dozen cupcakes now and the display case is getting empty.

It's a sort of truth that is also a lie. Jem empties the ovens onto cooling racks, rotates in new pans of cupcakes and cookies and pies, and puts the cool pastries into the display case and onto his decorating board.

Dean is a long, long way away.

Jem feels his distance like the deaf hear silence, pressing in on him from all sides but at the same time nonexistent. A slight buzzing in his heart that might go away someday if he ignores it long enough.

A sense of loneliness that he's used to because he's felt it for so long.

_He doesn't want to feel it anymore. He thought Dean was that chance, the thing that would make the buzzing go away._

 

He closed the shop early that day. He felt like maybe he could sleep and offered his cashier a whole day's pay even though that would be paying him two hours he didn't work. Then, numbly, he walked to his car.

It was becoming autumn. Soon he'd have to change his signs back, people would no longer be drawn in by his promises of ice cold drinks. The leaves were beginning to turn and it was already chilly, and he shivered, hunkering down in his car and thunking his head on the wheel.

Almost as if by habit, he brought his phone up to his ear and dialed the now-familiar number, pressing it to his ear.

It rings a few times. Jem frowned, because it had never rang before. Then—

“—Hello?”

“Dean?”

“Jem?”

He jolted and sat up straight, pulling his phone away from his ear and staring at it confusedly. When he brought it within hearing distance again, Dean was speaking rapidly.

“—kill me, Jem, I swear to god I wanted to talk to you but I—er, I dropped my phone during the hunt and it's taken me six years to find it again, I'm really sorry.”

“It's okay,” Jem murmured, feeling like maybe it really was okay. But he added on, “I was—I was really worried. I must have called you twenty times.”

“Nineteen. This is twenty,” Dean confirmed with a shaky little laugh. “You really miss me, huh?”

Jem's cheeks darkened at the teasing tones his sometimes boyfriend's voice took. “Y-yeah. How did the hunt go?”

Someone said something in the background. Dean shifted and the sound of something hitting something else was heard.

“It was really good actually. You know, your regular nest raid. 'Bout twenty of the suckers. They didn't stand a chance! Well, they did, but only because I have a—er— _inexperienced_ Hunter with me and he didn't really _get_ the gist of things.”

_“HEY!”_

_“Well it's true, asshole,_ ”

“Who's that?” Jem tried not to sound too curious. Ginny always got upset when he was jealous.

“Nobody,” Dean answered, a little bit quickly. “Listen Jem, do you think...when I come back...do you think you're ready for an actual relationship?”

It was probably his imagination, but Jem was pretty sure his heart stuttered. His lips curled into a smile and that insecure little side of him, the one that had said _Dean wanted this, Dean wanted this, Dean_ wanted _this!!_ did a little happy cheer.

“That depends,” Jem responded, hoping he didn't sound out of breath. He felt out of breath.

“On?” Dean was wary.

“When are you coming back?”

There was a frantic sort of rustling and a zipping noise. “I'm on my way.”

 

Jem felt Dean's distance like the deaf hear silence.

The difference was that distance is not permanent.

 


End file.
